


When Doves Cry

by marysiak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Song Lyrics, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6617812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysiak/pseuds/marysiak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to Prince dying, my own tribute in the form of a Draco/Harry slashfic based around the song When Doves Cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Doves Cry

_Dig if you will the picture_  
_Of you and I engaged in a kiss_  
_The sweat of your body covers me_  
_Can you my darling_  
_Can you picture this?_

Draco wasn't much of an artist. Never had been really, but his mother hadn't had a daughter to teach music and art and all those things to, so she had taught him instead, despite his father's opinion on the matter. And he sketched still because it reminded him of being a child in the sunshine of the gardens of Malfoy Manor before everything had gotten so much more complicated. His mother perched on a stool in a white dress and sun hat with her watercolours and him in the grass drawing pictures of imaginary quidditch players on his sketch pad and sometimes flowers from the garden, because it made her smile.

He didn't know what she would think of his current subject. All those years drawing quidditch players had given him a good line on the male body in action. And he spent a lot of time at home alone, thinking about male bodies. She'd probably point out that he was still terrible at drawing hands. He was however excellent at arses, even if he did say so himself.

His pencil ran over and over the line of a back, shading, adding a sheen of sweat to the skin. He could almost see, almost taste the image he was drawing.

And what did it matter, who was to see his stupid sketch anyway. Who saw anything he did these days. So why shouldn't he make the hair black, dig out his watercolour pencils from the bottom of the chest and add the only colour to the image, green eyes.

When he tapped his wand on the sketch, Harry Potter arched over and kissed the pencil lines of Draco Malfoy breathless.

_Dream if you can a courtyard_  
_An ocean of violets in bloom_  
_Animals strike curious poses_  
_They feel the heat_  
_The heat between me and you_

He had dreamed about Draco Malfoy before. But not like this. He had never had a dream quite like this before. Luna had warned him that 'Dare To Dream of Love' was not a cocktail to be trifled with. Hermione had shaken her head silently. He had taken it as a challenge of course. 

The courtyard looked like Hogwarts in spring, but never had so many violets sprung in profusion from between every crack in the stones. The air hazy with sunlight and pollen. The rest of Hogwarts faded and indistinct. 

Draco Malfoy stood on the other side of the stone enclosure, not quite leaning against the wall. His body was tense. 

In the cupolas and arches around them prowled animals. Cats, owls... more animals seemed to be arriving every moment from the school and the forest and the sky. Deer and wolves and unicorns, doves and crows and songbirds, lizards and spiders and mice. The air was fraught with the feeling that something was about to happen and the animals were all here to watch it, to judge it maybe, or to just revel in it. 

His skin was on fire.

Malfoy's fist was clenching in a way that did not look like a threat.

Behind Malfoy cats twined against the pillars. A dove landed on his shoulder and it's wings blended into his hair.

Malfoy's eyes were reflecting the violets somehow.

Thunder rolled over head as a summer storm broke and the drops hissed into steam as they struck his skin.

He jerked awake with a gasp.

Still in the bar, still at a table full of his friends. An empty glass with one violet drop still left behind from when he had gulped the whole thing down.

He put his hand to his mouth, his lips had gone numb.

He could still smell the violets.

“What did you see?” asked Luna.

Harry just stared at her with wide startled eyes.

_How can you just leave me standing?_  
_Alone in a world that's so cold?_  
_Maybe I'm just too demanding_  
_Maybe I'm just like my father, too bold_  
_Maybe you're just like my mother_  
_She's never satisfied_  
_Why do we scream at each other_  
_This is what it sounds like_  
_When doves cry_

Most days were quiet. He stayed at home, he worked at his potions, he read a book. He avoided accusing eyes and inescapable arguments and anyone who might recognise his face for any reason at all.

Because he wasn't a quiet person. Not by nature. He liked the sound of his own voice, liked it when people did as he said. He couldn't help it. The more nervous he got the more snippy and demanding he became.

He remembered a time when his mother had though it was sweet, just like his father. She didn't think it was sweet any more. She said he needed to grow up, accept that things were different. So he stayed home and didn't get into arguments. And then she said he needed to get out, not hole himself away in his flat. Nothing he did was right any more.

Nobody was ever satisfied with him, nobody was ever pleased to see him.

Not since that day he had been acquitted of all crimes and everyone filed out of the room and left him standing there alone wondering what was supposed to happen next. And then everyone left. His father back to Azkaban, his mother to France, the money to the vaults of the Ministry, and all of his friends to their own private hells.

Other days he visited his father.

How could he let his mother go alone, how could he not visit... his own father. Those were not quiet days. But they were thankfully few, and always on a Sunday.

And this was why on Monday morning, when he made a run to Diagon Alley for potions ingredients and literally bumped into Harry Potter because he was trying not to make eye contact with anyone, he ended up screaming at him in anger, and Potter screamed right back, possibly purely out of habit.

And then Draco burst into tears because it was all just too horrible.

_Touch if you will my stomach_  
_Feel how it trembles inside_  
_You've got the butterflies all tied up_  
_Don't make me chase you_  
_Even doves have pride_

Potter took him home to his tiny flat. And it made him angry to have Potter even see it, how far the Malfoy's had fallen that all he could afford were two rooms and a bathroom that didn't even have a bath in it cause there was no room for one. His potions desk in the living room so close to the sofa he had to move furniture to work.

But really he was mostly trying to be angry because he was trembling, and his eyes were red still from crying, and he was embarrassed, and he really really really wanted to kiss Potter in a way he'd never felt before because they hadn't been alone together since, what.... the Forbidden Forest in first year probably? When he was still eleven and hadn't figured out why he gave so much of a damn about Harry Potter anyway.

And he was absolutely not going to humiliate himself any more than he already had.

He had his pride.

_How can you just leave me standing?_  
_Alone in a world so cold?_  
_Maybe I'm just too demanding_  
_Maybe I'm just like my father, too bold_  
_Maybe you're just like my mother_  
_She's never satisfied_  
_Why do we scream at each other_  
_This is what it sounds like_  
_When doves cry_

So he shook Potter's hands off his arm and stalked into the bathroom to wash his face and when he came back out he demanded that he get out of his house.

And Potter gave him this look like maybe he thought Draco was kind of sweet when he was being haughty and insecure.

So Draco dragged out every insult he could think of and screamed them in Potter's face until Potter started yelling back again and this time Draco didn't cry until after Potter had slammed the door behind him and left him alone in his freezing cold flat that he couldn't afford to heat any more.

He never even noticed that Harry had been looking at something before he had started shouting, a piece of paper clutched in his hand that he still had a hold of when he left.

_When Doves cry_  
_Don't cry_  
_Darling don't cry_  
_Don't cry_  
_Don't cry_  
_Don't don't cry_

It was nearly midnight when someone knocked at his door. As he'd planned to never to speak to anyone ever again he didn't answer it.

A few minutes later someone beat at the door and shouted loudly through it, “If you don't open this right now I'm opening it myself anyway!”

It was Potter, come back to finish him off perhaps.

He lay on his back and wondered if he would really come in anyway.

When the door opened so hard it bounced off the wall behind it he supposed that Potter would then.

He realised only in that moment that he was crying still. Not sobs any more. Just a slow drip of tears over skin gone raw from too much salt.

He lay there looking at the ceiling with his eyes burning from it as Potter's shadow came to his bedroom door.

Potter didn't say anything, didn't come into the bedroom.

Eventually he looked over at him.

“This is yours I think,” said Potter, and held out a scrap of paper.

Draco summoned it to him with his wand and it drifted into his hand.

On the crumpled piece of paper Harry Potter arched over and kissed the pencil lines of Draco Malfoy breathless.

When he looked up from the sketch Potter was standing over his bed.

_Dig if you will the picture_  
_Of you and I engaged in a kiss_  
_The sweat of your body covers me_  
_Can you my darling_  
_Can you picture this?_

**Author's Note:**

> Some of Draco's sketches
> 
> http://sturmdaemonin.deviantart.com/art/Harry-Potter-Kiss-53713432  
> http://theband.deviantart.com/art/Snog-27929230  
> http://elorie-portrait.deviantart.com/art/Harry-and-Draco-for-Dani-49365360  
> http://manueee.deviantart.com/art/Harry-Potter-drawing-244252540


End file.
